Punctuation Name Game

In the continuing saga of NAMES YOU ONLY HEAR IN UTAH, allow me to tell you a story. There's a teacher who works at the boys' school who had a student named La-a. Now, I'm unclear as to whether this teacher had this student here in Utah, the great naming apocalypse state, or if the student hailed from another state but regardless of where she came from, her name was straight up La-a. When the teacher called roll for the first time, she said, "Uh...Lah ah?" And, I mean, what the heck else would you say?

The girl, clearly annoyed said, "It's Ladasha!"

No. No it isn't. At the ABSOLUTE BEST, it is Lahyphena.

Hyphens and dashes are two different things. A hyphen joins words together. A dash separates words into parenthetical statements. Sorry, Lahyphena, your name doesn't make grammatical sense. But who am I to point fingers? My last name is sporting an extra, and very confusing, S. The only thing that extra S is good for is weeding out the telemarketers. Everyone on the planet thinks my last name is pronounced as though you're combining two different food items--fish and pork--when, in actuality, it sounds like something an angry linebacker would yell just before the sack.

I see a lot of weird names that I have no idea how to pronounce in the subbing business. (Subbing profession? Subbing industry? I'm cracking myself up over here trying to make it sound like I do something more glamorous than glorified babysitting.) But if I ever see anyone with a "-" in the middle of their name I am going to straight up pronounce it hyphen. Just to be a jerk.

I pass these terrible names on to my sister-in-law who, even when she isn't currently gestating a human being, likes to hear them. I use the word "likes" rather loosely here. It's possible she's merely humoring me. She is, however, growing an entire little life inside of her at this very present moment and so I've been sending a whole heap of RIDICULOUS names to her. Sometimes, I make them up. She's never certain if they're real, in the sense that someone actually bears the moniker, or made up by me. As opposed to the parents who must, literally, pull Scrabble tiles from a box and then make it work.

I actually just tried this intriguing notion and randomly pulled the following:

JSAIQOK

I'm annoyed that I pulled a Q with no U but that is of no real concern. We could just leave them like that. In fact, I'm now wishing for a fourth son so that I could have Garrett, Matthew, Will, and Jsaiqok which is, OF COURSE, pronounced J say qwok. But I could rescramble them and have little Joqiska. Oh please let me do one more because I'm on a roll. Kajqosi.

Anyway. This La-a has us RUNNING WILD with the possibilities. What fun you can have throwing a dash into any name you can think of. But why stop there? There are so many other punctuation marks that haven't even been invited to the party. My husband came up with Ca... which, of course, would be pronounced Cuh lip sis.

How about the ,? Tre, (pronounced Trey comma). It could absolutely be a name here in the great state of Utah.

And why isn't anyone using the :?

Whatever happened to Melissa and Diane and Michael and James? Those names we could pronounce. Those names passed the substitute litmus test. And really, when naming a child, ask yourself WWASS? What would a substitute say?

I guarantee that this sub would have said, "La ah." If met with the giggles that always accompany a good name butchering, she'd maybe have said, "Lahyphena?"

But then, she'd have to introduce herself by writing her name on the board. "No," she'd say. "Not Bassham like fish and pork. Bashum, like a pumped up linebacker." Or, maybe, a serial killer.

So You Didn't Grow Up In Utah?

Since I (largely) disagreed with Chad Buleen's 13 Ways People Can Tell You Didn't Grow Up in Utah, I decided to come up with a more accurate list. Many things popped into my head that I didn't end up using. Bipolar weather, for example. Here in Utah, a storm can blow through in a matter of minutes. However, this is true of so many other places in our country that it's hardly a native Utah thing. So I crossed it out with a big black Sharpie. Unfortunately, not everyone has the good fortune of spending the first 26 years of her life in a place with near perfect weather year round. I also thought about how everyone uses the "I" when discussing an Interstate. "Take I-15," they'll say. Where I grew up, in southern California, everyone says, "the 15." Or the 163 or the 8 or any number of the other dozens of freeways. We don't feel the need to clarify that it's an Interstate. However, I've heard people use the "I" in other places so, again, it isn't something unique to Utah. Still, I was able to come up with a list of actual ways people can tell you didn't grow up in Utah. I present it to you now. This is very important stuff. I'm sure that all two of my Utah readers will find it fascinating while the other eight of you just wait for the next post.

1. You had never heard, nor do you use, the phrase, "Oh my heck!"
I was warned about this before I moved here so I wish I could say that I was ready for it. The truth of the matter is that nothing prepares you for this phrase. What does it mean? I've even heard it altered. Oh my go to heck. Yep. If Utahns can get away with this I think we should all just start making up our own versions. "Oh my dearly departed great aunt Ruth!" or "Oh my fried salamander!" Whatever. Be creative.

2. You don't know any good recipes involving green Jell-O nor do you know how to cook Funeral Potatoes.
Everyone who is actually from here knows how to whip up a dish involving green Jell-O and shredded carrots. Everyone also knows how to make a dish referred to as Funeral Potatoes. I think this is because they're commonly eaten at the gathering immediately following a funeral. But I honestly don't know for sure on account of the fact that I'm not from here. The latter are actually delicious while the former is gross. Carrots? In Jell-O? It's a Utah thing.

3. You are not used to seeing an LDS meetinghouse on every corner.
The small town I grew up in had two wards that shared one building. Here, in the Salt Lake Valley, there's one ward for every few streets. The spires on the meetinghouses can be seen everywhere. If you're used to seeing a 7-11 or a Starbucks on every corner, you probably didn't grow up in Utah.

4. You didn't know that Halloween is more important than Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter, and Independence Day put together.

Utahns LOVE their Halloween. When we came to visit in October of 2007, I had no idea what was happening. It was the very first week of the month and yards were COVERED in fake spider webs, grave stones, goblins, ghosts, witches, and black cats. People had changed their outside lighting to shine orange or eerie green. There were Halloween superstores everywhere. Now that I live here, I know about the crazy corn mazes, the haunted houses, the carnivals, and the fact that everything just about shuts down for this weird holiday. In other places, Halloween is for the kids. Here, well, it seems to be for everyone.

5. You've never heard of Pioneer Day.

In Utah, the only holiday bigger than Halloween is Pioneer Day. Where all the other states just have the 4th of July, Utah gets the 4th AND the 24th. Celebrating the day when Brigham Young led the first group of pioneers into the Salt Lake Valley, Utahns get the day off work to light fireworks, have barbecues, march in parades, and attend parties. It's exactly like what all Americans do on the 4th, except, 20 days later. So, if your Independence Day was lame, never fear. You've still got Pioneer Day.

6. You pronounce Hurricane, Tooele, and Mantua they way they look but you pronounce Juab with a silent J.

Juab is actually pronounced the way it looks. Jew-ab. This is confusing for anyone who moved here from anywhere with a Spanish or Latin American influence. It looks like Wahb to me. This is especially confusing because nothing else is pronounced the way it looks. Take Hurricane (Hurri-kin), Tooele (Too-ill-uh), and Mantua (Manna-way) for example.

7. You stop when the light turns red.

Here in Utah, when making a left turn, red lights are completely optional. No joke. When the light turns red, you can see three or four cars continue right on through the turn. Oncoming traffic has to sit and wait for everyone to break the law before they can safely go. If the city placed traffic cops at major intersections, we could easily balance the budget. It's ridiculous. It's dangerous. It's a serious problem.

8. You've never had to go to a state liquor store to buy alcohol.
The local grocery store doesn't have an alcohol section. Well, they do, but it consists of beer. If you want something else, anything else, cooking wine, even, you'll have to find your local state liquor store.

9. You've never sloughed/sluffed school before.

You've, perhaps, "ditched" school. Maybe you've even "skipped" school. But you've never sloughed it. To slough, in biology terms, means to shed or cast off. How this came to be the verb for a Utahn choosing to do anything but attend class is beyond me.

10. You eat ketchup with your fries.

Utah is the home of the fry sauce. I think fry sauce is some blend of mayonnaise and ketchup, heavy on the mayo. It's no wonder why this hasn't spread outside of Utah. It's straight up gross.

11. You come from a place that doesn't name all of its towns after LDS leaders, Biblical places or Book of Mormon locations.

Zion, Lehi, Nephi, Ephraim, Enoch, Brigham City, Lewiston, Moab, Willard and Woodruff. To name just a few.

12. You enunciate the T in mountain and you don't add a K to an "ing" word.

So many people native to these parts (and a lot of people who've just listened long enough to people native to these parts) do not pronounce the "t" found in the middle of words like mountain, fountain, titan, etc. There is a slight pause where the "t" should be, almost as though it's spoken softly from the back of the throat. Additionally, the "g" at the end of words gets caught in the back of the throat as well. As such, it seems that the "k" sound is added to the end of many "ing" words, resulting in these action verbs sounding more like they all end in the suffix "ink". Hikink, swimmink, flyink, sittink, sleepink. Will you meet me at the fow-an in the cen-er of the parkink lot?

13. You didn't name your son Jimmer, Hyrum or Monson. You didn't name your daughter Brinkley, McCall or LaKindree.

It's been brought to my attention that this is actually a problem here in Utah that has been written about, discussed, etc. The theory is that it does stem from the sheer volume of children born here and the fact that parents don't want them to be the fifth David in their class. So, they go with Dravin or Javid or something else, unique to their child. There are baby naming apocalypses going on in other places as well but it doesn't seem that anywhere is facing quite the epidemic that Utah children do.

I've posted this video before. It cracks me up. I'm not saying every name on this list is awful or terrible. Some of them are nice. But it's still way funny.


They just made a new video. Equally as hilarious.

So there you have it. 13 ways people can tell you didn't grow up in Utah.

13 Ways People Can Tell You Didn't Grow Up in Utah

I just can't even begin to write about the fact that, on Saturday, I found out that four people had died. I had only met two of them in real life but the deaths are all up front and personal for people I care about. Two of them were children. One was 29. It's rough. So I'm just going to go ahead and not talk about that right now and, instead, discuss something I saw on Facebook.

As I scrolled through my feed this morning I saw a link to an article titled 13 Ways People Can Tell You Didn't Grow Up in Utah. I was intrigued. The article was found at newscastic.com and was written by Chad Buleen.

Some of them are spot on. The rest are ridiculous. So let's explore them, shall we?

1. You Don't Quote "The Princess Bride"
FALSE. He goes on to say that it's a cute movie but suggests that people from other states don't quote this film, only Utahns. Um. What? Doesn't everyone quote this movie? I mean, I probably look at my husband on a weekly basis and say, "I'm not a witch, I'm your wife." This might say more about my own personality flaws than the fact that I like the film in question but, come on, Chad. Everyone quotes this classic.

2. You Enunciate the "t" in Mountain
TRUE. He says if you want to fit in here, you must stop saying the t's inside of words. TOTALLY true. Mountain sounds like m-owin. The "t" is kind of, sort of, there but it's spoken, somehow, from the back of the throat. It completely loses the tip-of-the-tongue-on-the-back-of-the-teeth aspect of saying an actual t. He stops short of telling us the other Utah accent issue which is to add a k to the end of all "ing" words. Example: We went hikink in the m-owins. If you heard me read that aloud, you'd think I sounded just like a native Utahn.

3. You Don't Care Who Wins the BYU-Utah Football Game
FALSE. Long before I moved here, my favorite college team was whoever happened to be playing the Cougars. When we candidated, a kid asked me if I was a BYU fan or a Utah fan. While, truly, at that time, the answer was neither, I emphatically announced that I was a Utes fan. Because, you know, given the choice, there was no decision to be made. Living here has only made this allegiance stronger and I now consider myself a University of Utah fan. When I see the Y on apparel (or hillsides), it conjures up as much disdain as the logo for the Raiders. If not more.

4. You Pronounce Tooele the Way It Looks
TRUE AND FALSE. When I first saw it spelled and heard it pronounced "correctly" on the news, I had no idea how they came to that. So, in that sense, true. It looks like too-elle. So too-elle it SHOULD be. But, now that I know how to say it, I don't go around saying, "Too-elle." I properly pronounce it, "Too-ill-uh." So. False.

5. You've Never Seen This Movie
FALSE. Because the movie that he shows under this heading is Newsies. And I'm sorry but, just, WHAT? WHO HASN'T SEEN THE NEWSIES? WHAT DRAMA STUDENT ANYWHERE HASN'T LISTENED TO THE SOUNDTRACK UNTIL IT'S ALL WORN OUT? WHO HASN'T DREAMED THAT SOMEONE WOULD STAGE AN ALL FEMALE VERSION?  WHO DOESN'T LOVE THIS MOVIE AND HOT, YOUNG, CHRISTIAN BALE?

6. What Everyone Else Calls "Rivers" You Call "Creeks"
FALSE. I'm from San Diego. Dude. A stream looks like a river to me. When I was a kid, I saw the Mississippi River at flood level. Holy cow. I thought it was a great lake.

7. You Don't Have a Mommy Blog
FALSE. Yes, yes I do. And I started it before I moved here.

8. You Eat Ketchup With Your Fries
TRUE. Or well, sometimes I eat them plain and sometimes I use BBQ sauce but I NEVER, EVER, use that disgusting light orange concoction that was invented here and is referred to as fry sauce. There's a reason it hasn't spread beyond your borders, Utah. It's GROSS.

9. You Drive the Speed Limit on I-15
FALSE. This one goes on to say that everyone in Utah drives 10-15 miles over the limit and that if you drive what's posted, you'll stand out. Well...I grew up in California so...I actually think we drive the freeways slower here in Utah. What this one should have said was, "You Stop When the Light Turns Red." Because, here in Utah, that's totally optional.

10. You Actually Want to Swim in the Great Salt Lake
TRUE AND FALSE. When we first moved here, I'd already been to Israel and I thought of the Great Salt Lake as a sort of Dead Sea, known for its healing powers and floatability. So, originally, this statement was true. But then I came to know that the Great Salt Lake is smelly and has tons of flies and is really rather nasty. I've been to it approximately once in the almost seven years we've lived here. And by approximately, I mean, exactly.

11. You Don't Know Any Green Jell-O Recipes
TRUE. This state purchases more Jell-O per capita than any other. Everyone is supposed to have a green Jell-O recipe up her sleeve. I don't. Everyone is also supposed to know how to make "Funeral Potatoes" and I don't. But my aunt moved to Hurricane, UT, years before we moved here and she makes a delicious dish she calls Auntie's Potatoes. I suspect she ripped off the Funeral Potatoes recipe. And, since I do know how to make Auntie's Potatoes I'm pretty sure that, if I ever find myself at an LDS funeral, I can supply yet one more casserole dish of Funeral Potatoes.

12. You Speak Only One Language
TRUE AND FALSE. A lot of people here went somewhere else on their mission. I didn't go on a mission. Well, I mean, I've done missions work but not, like, for two solid years. However, that being said, people in southern California are A LOT more bilingual than people here. There are a lot of women and children and even a great deal of men that live here that do not speak another language.

13. You Think The Mountains Look Better Without Giant Letters on Them
TRUE AND FALSE. I definitely think that mountains look better without letters on them but that hardly means I grew up somewhere that didn't have letters on the mountains. Doesn't EVERY place have schools that march up the nearest hillside and put a giant letter on it? One of the things my husband and I love most about driving through Nevada on our way to Tahoe is when we see the giant letters on the hillside alerting us to the fact that we're heading through the town of Battle Mountain.

We're roughly twelve years old, is the thing. But the point I'm making is...every town puts letters on their hills. So this is mostly false.

Only three of Mr. Buleen's observances were actually, completely true. I pronounce my "t's", I don't eat fry sauce, and I don't make green Jell-O recipes. The rest are not inherently Utahn. Try harder next time, Chad.

Heat

I try REALLY hard not to complain about the heat--like, ever--because I keep myself busy complaining about the SNOW and the COLD from November until May. It's exhausting. I feel like I can't, in good conscience, monopolize all the complaining so I do my very best to keep my mouth closed when it's hot. Even, REALLY hot. It helps that I think my body was actually made for life on Venus because I happily operate at a good ten degrees higher than the rest of all the population. Like, if the world is miserable at 88, I won't be miserable until 98.

I'd rather take clothes off than put them on. And by that I mean that I'd prefer to lounge around in a swim suit as opposed to a snow suit.

I'd choose Arizona over Minnesota. But, in fairness, that probably has more to do with mosquitoes than temperature.

It was uncharacteristically hot when we were in Tahoe this summer. I didn't complain.

We had some pretty warm days here in July. No complaints from me.

But yesterday, something came over me and I darn near lost my mind.

I went on a field trip with Garrett and, since it's mid-September in Salt Lake City, I assumed that wearing black leggings and a shirt that went to my elbows with a camisole underneath was a good choice. And it was quite fine when we rode the bus as 9:00 am (even though every other mother was lamenting the HEAT and the LACK OF AIR FLOW and the HORRORS OF THIS UNENDURABLE HEAT). The outfit was perfect for the air conditioned planetarium. Where it broke down was getting back on the bus at noon (the bus that had been sitting in the sun and must have been 90 degrees inside) and riding it to the park where we would stay until 1:30 before getting back on it and riding home. By the time we got back to the school at 2:20, I was relatively close to yanking off my leggings and sitting there with no pants on at all.

I would have been horribly humiliated by my pit marks and my back sweat but, my ten degree (live on Venus) buffer made me less sweaty than every other mother. It turns out that, when everyone has pit marks, there's a sense of pride in having the smallest ones. My hair was sticking to my face and my neck. All I could think about was getting home, peeling off layers of clothing, and lying in a tub of ice.

But I had to go to Walmart and I figured that leaving my clothing on was really the better choice. Because I can just see the headline now and it reads "LOCAL PASTOR'S WIFE ARRESTED AT WALMART FOR INDECENT EXPOSURE." When I got home from the store, I shed clothing. I drank cold water, I did my best to perk up but I was exhausted. The heat had drained all of my energy. And it was in the 90s, yes, but that's hardly super hot. It's just that LONG, BLACK LEGGINGS were not the best choice and, in fact, created a sort of oven, encapsulating my legs. Essentially, I slow roasted myself.

So, yesterday, I broke down and, for the first time this year, COMPLAINED about the heat. I'm not proud of it. In fact, I'm pretty ashamed. But, you guys, it's because I was totally a smelly, sweaty goat wearing leggings. And that's really the end of my story.

My apologies to anyone in the greater San Diego area who is reading this and thinking that I should take my 90 degree weather and my black leggings and shove them because you're enduring nearly 110 degree temperatures. My condolences. But you still live in America's Finest City and you still have your ocean so, really, you still come out ahead.

Memorial Day

On Friday I got the wild idea that WE SHOULD TOTALLY GO CAMPING ON SUNDAY NIGHT! WE CAN TAKE THE LITTLE TENT!! INSTEAD OF THE GIANT TENT!!! IT'LL BE A BLAST!!!! I got the husband on board and we were set. Except I needed to find a campsite. 

And that proved to be a bit difficult. What with Sunday being Memorial Day Eve and all. Troy and I simultaneously had the same thought, "BACKYARD CAMP OUT!" Mostly because, after ten and a half years of marriage, we've started thinking each other's thoughts. Or something. The boys, who did not know that we had considered going actual camping, were thrilled.

We BBQ'd hamburgers and hot dogs, ate corn on the cob, fresh fruit and potato chips. Then we washed all of that down with Cookie S'mores. (S'mores, take away chocolate, take away graham crackers, add chocolate chip cookies.) Also, it has been brought to my attention that no backyard camp out is complete without a Power Ranger.

I texted this picture to my mom and, approximately five seconds after doing so, Garrett declared, "Put away your phone! Put down your Internet! THIS IS A CAMPING TRIP AND WE DON'T HAVE THOSE THINGS ON CAMPING TRIPS!" I did as I was told. 

The universe is almost short one neighbor. You see, when a dog barks All. Night. Long. I don't actually get mad at the dog. I get mad at the owner. Because. SERIOUSLY? Can you not hear that? And if you really, truly can't, I recommend having your ears checked. I thought about banging on the door at 4:15 am to say, "BRING YOUR DOG IN NOW OR YOU MIGHT NOT HAVE IT IN THE MORNING!" I considered putting the dog in my own house so that maybe, just maybe, it would shut up so that my family might sleep. I considered murder. I did none of these things. I have no follow through to my grand plans.

At 8:30 this morning we met our friends at their house and headed across the valley to Bell Canyon.

And up, up, straight up, we went for two miles that took forever and a day because the trail is narrow and everyone (EVERYONE AND THEIR MAMA AND THEIR SISTER AND THEIR ELEVEN KIDS--because, Utah.) decided to hike that trail for Memorial Day. There was a lot of, "Sorry!" "Thank you!" "Coming through!" "Good morning!" 

First, we stopped at the reservoir which was less than half a mile up the trail.

My boys were thrilled to be hiking with their best friends in the whole wide world.

Then we hiked along the river. There were so many beautiful spots and I was glad that we had our good camera. I was not glad to see it flashing, "NO MEMORY CARD!" See, last night, during our camp out, the boys and their father made a cops and robbers short film. One of the adults in this relationship (not the one surprised to see that the camera had no memory card) forgot to take the card out of the computer when he--or she (NOT)--was finished loading the video.

One of the adults in this relationship might have said to the other one, "I'm sorry. Are you really going to let it ruin your day?" Because the other adult might have been about to have a hissy fit over it. The near hissy fit thrower might have decided that probably the other person was right. Even if she (or he) hates to admit it. She (or he) was happy to have a phone that takes good pictures.

Our kids were troopers, climbing, climbing, climbing the fairly steep trail until we reached our destination.

Unfortunately, we had to slide down a very muddy hill to get pictures of the waterfall and there just wasn't a great angle. Plus the sun was making it impossible to see my phone so I just clicked away and hoped to get something decent.

My children were covered (from head to sneaker clad toe) in mud. So much mud, they had to ride home in their undies but don't tell anyone because this brings the almost eight-year-old a great deal of humiliated feelings.

Also, I am WAY TOO HARD ON MY OLDEST KID and WAY TOO SOFT ON MY YOUNGEST and HOW DID THIS HAPPEN BECAUSE I AM AN OLDEST CHILD. The oldest fell into the mud first. In large part, I think he wanted this to happen. He is always "accidentally" falling into water. Or mud. Or whatever it is we probably don't want him falling into. The probability of it always being an accident is very low. So today, when he fell and covered himself in sticky muck like a pig in the dead of summer, I yelled, "GARRETT! COME ON! HOW ARE YOU GOING TO RIDE HOME?" (In his undies, actually.)

Not five minutes later, Matthew did the same, exact thing. Having been present for the oldest's lecture, he quickly said, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay, baby. Hop up."

For real. Those were my reactions to my two children getting covered in mud. Now, in reality, I saw both happen. The first one looked like the acting in a B rated film. Controlled fall, covered in mud, "HOWEVER did that happen?" The second looked like a legitimate slip. But still. It's like I expect Garrett to act like a sixteen-year-old girl in an etiquette class and I expect Matthew to act like a two-year-old cross between a golden retriever and a real, live boy. What is wrong with me?

At least I recognized it, right? Does that get me some points? After careful self examination I have declared myself NOT mother of the year.

I'm going to take parenting classes. I think I'll let my first grader teach them, just as a way of saying, "Apparently, I expect way more out of you. Whoops. Sorry for that. Also sorry for that ulcer you're developing. Here's 200 bucks. That oughta pay for your first therapy session."

On that note, Happy Memorial Day!

Snow Cave Time

This is what my dad does when he comes to town.

Well, I mean, not every time he comes to town because sometimes he comes in July. And while I'm not saying that it would never snow in Utah in July, so far mother nature hasn't been quite that cruel to me.

So, yeah, we've got a giant snow cave in the front yard. Except that now our temperatures are in the toasty high 30s so if we don't see some more snow soon, that sucker is gonna melt right quick.

Not that I'm asking for more snow, mind you. Because I'm not. It's January now. As you well know, I only tolerate snow in December.

Let It Snow--Because It Doesn't Give You a Choice

Today I had a million and two things that needed to be accomplished. A handful of them involved driving in horrendous weather. If you don't live in a place that has winter, FYI: when it snows, the roads are just awful and you may as well be in a parking lot. Generally, when it snows, I have a rule. It involves howling to anyone who will listen that I AM FROM SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE IN THIS STUFF. But then I woke up one day and I'd been living in Utah for six years and, well, it's kind of high time I figure out how to drive in the winter because sometimes I really need to get my haircut. And go to Winco. 

It is pretty. Which is good because its aesthetic appeal covers a multitude of nightmarish qualities. Like sliding through intersections. And shoveling the driveway.

Sometimes I think happy thoughts about beaches and San Diego--just to make it through.

But sometimes, my house is all aglow and the ground is covered in white.

If you lived here, you'd be home. There would be a fire in the fireplace and Christmas cookies on the counter. And you'd have an entire night before you had to worry about driving in it again.

BRR!!!

I was basically wet for ten years of my life. I experienced some pretty cold moments during that decade. When it's 48 degrees outside and you're diving into an outdoor pool, that feels miserable. What's worse is when it's raining outside and so, between events, your skin stays pruned and damp. 

I know that there are people in other parts of the country who can boast things like, "It's -30 outside today." I can't even wrap my mind around that kind of cold because today, when I dropped my oldest son off at school, it was 12 degrees. I checked the weather page to find that it "felt" like -4.

For those of you blessed by the Almighty God to live in warm parts of this country--places like southern California, Arizona and Florida--let me tell you what that feels like.

-4 feels like your skin is going to split in half and crack right off of your face.

-4 feels like you can't quite catch your breath because the air is freezing your lungs.

-4 feels like YOU WILL NEVER BE WARM AGAIN.

It snowed all day yesterday. A friend of mine sent me a message asking how I was dealing with the snow since she knows I'm not a fan.

I responded that there is a time and a place for the snow. December is that time. I mostly happily deal with it in December because, with Christmas coming, it feels right to wear giant jackets, sip hot cocoa, and stretch out by the fire. 

That said, I am very much hoping that it doesn't feel like -4 for the duration of winter because I might shrivel up and die.

But these kids...

Well, they're loving it.

As I drove down the hill from Garrett's school this morning, Christmas music played and I took a good look at the Wasatch Range. The mountains shoot up from the dreary valley and straight into the sky--almost as far as the eye can see. At this moment they are covered in snow. The sun is shining and the way it hit the peaks is nothing short of spectacular.

It's brutally cold.

But the view ain't half bad.

What I Want

It's a dreary shade of fall outside my window.

I'm wearing jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a sweater.

I'm wishing for the days, just a month or two ago, when tank tops and shorts were the clothing items of choice.

Within an eighteen hour period, two different people posted this to my Facebook timeline.

Apparently I am rather transparent about my disdain for winter. And my love of flip flops.

I know there isn't snow on the ground yet but Old Man Winter won't stay away for long. So for the next six or seven months, my flip flops will stare mournfully at me from their rack on the back of the door.

The One Where I Don't Tell My Kid About Polygamy

Sometime during this past week, we got an advertisement in the mail or with our newspaper or something. It was for This Is The Place Heritage Park. The park is designed to show visitors what it would be like to take a step back into the Utah frontier. They have historic houses, blacksmiths, petting zoos, and activities for kids to enjoy. Apparently it would typically cost me close to $40 to take my entire family there. That, coupled with the fact that we don't generally talk much about Utah history with our kids, has kept me away.

But, the advertisement explained that today the park would be free admission and free ice cream. Double bonus! For free, I figured I could just steer my emerging reader away from any of the signs that mentioned Samuel such in such living in this historic house with his two wives and their eleven children. It's just that I don't really want to explain polygamy to my six-year-old, is all. In any case, This Is The Place is said to be the exact place that Brigham Young declared, "We'll stay here forever in this valley." (Or whatever it is he actually said.) Personally, if I'd just climbed over the Wasatch range, only to find another mountain range off in the distance, I'd have declared this the place as well. But then I'd have spent one freezing winter here and decided that, surely, weather was warmer just over those Oquirrhs. And, by golly, I'd have been right.

I decided that what with all the FREE! I should probably take my kids up there today and see what it was all about. I called my friend and asked if she wanted to join us with her two sons who happen to my sons' bestest friends in the whole wide world of ever. I was super thrilled because I said, "We can pick you up." For the first time in this whole having kids experience, I could pick up another mom and her two kids and fit everyone in my vehicle. Vanna White is working out quite well for us, it would seem.

So we went.

And Matthew and his best buddy learned how to wash clothes.

And all the boys plowed a field, tried walking on stilts, worked with wool, watched a blacksmith work, saw a man making jerky, sat in a teepee, walked through historic houses and rode the ponies.

I'm fairly certain that my boys ended up on horses named Chip and Dale.

My friend and I wondered how, exactly, those pioneer women managed to make their own clothes, feed their families, work their land, and have nine children. There just isn't enough time in the day. Then again, they didn't have Facebook. They also didn't feel the need to maintain a blog.

We toured a school house and Garrett practiced using his very own slate. He made sure to behave so that he didn't have to wear the dunce cap in the front of the school. I learned that there is, in fact, a language of Deseret. Five and a half years and I never knew that.

We had a great time. My wild boy loved learning how to be a pioneer. Matthew loved his pony ride. I loved having everyone in one vehicle on the drive there and back.

And I managed to steer my kid away from all the mention of plural wives. Which is always the indicator of a good day.

Mrs. Becks Comes to Utah and Stays Forever

Do you see this haircut right here?

Everyone in Utah has this haircut. And by everyone I mean a very high percentage. I hadn't seen it much until I moved here. Oh sure, there was the occasional Victoria Beckham. Some other celebrities had, at one time, sported the look. I'd seen it on a head or two in San Diego a few years back. Then we moved here.

I saw it. "What a cute haircut," I thought.

I saw it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

My mom noticed that everyone had it.

We began to refer to it as "The Utah Haircut."

It's not that I don't like it. It's just that I don't look favorably on anything that everyone does (says the girl with the long hair and the side swept bangs because no one has those things). So, even though I liked this cut on the right person (it does not work on everyone) I decided I would certainly not do it. (Especially because, what if I was one of the ones that it did not look good on?)

It was the same thing with the Miche bag which I loved and adored. It originated here in Utah and some of my friends were among the very first to have them. I saw them on my friends. So cute. I saw them in the malls. So cute. I decided I wanted one. Then, just before I was set to buy one, I started looking around. They were everywhere which is great for business but I didn't want the purse that everyone had--even if you could change the shell and make it more unique. I felt a little sad for my friends who'd been among the pioneers of this item. Although, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and kudos to them for helping to start this trend.

So back to the haircut. It's everywhere and the weird thing is, I've lived here for five and a half years and it hasn't changed. In California it doesn't seem that any trend lasts that long. So it's taken some getting used to on my part, this fact that things come to Utah and tend to stay for a good, long while. 

It's fine.

It's really, adorably cute on Matthew's teacher and she should maybe have it forever.

But now I'm seeing it on preschoolers and first graders. This once-upon-a-time Victoria Beckham hairstyle on tiny little girls? It's just so severe. So the question I pose here is this: Do we really want our grade schoolers looking like Posh Spice? Is that what we've come to here in Utah?

Zion National Park

My oldest son is off track. Insert me continuing to kick, scream, and hate almost everything about year round school. The only upside I see so far is that we were able to plan a trip to Zion. In April/May. And I didn't have to pull my kid out of class.

We went with my parents and stayed outside the park in a beautiful RV resort. Troy, unfortunately, needed to go to Denver on some church business, but the boys and I had a blast.

We hiked. And swam. And explored.

My boys were pretty much filthy for five days straight.

They were covered in dust, grime, and red rock.

They continued to amaze me with their ability to play with nothing but sticks and rocks for close to a week.

I love to take them camping. They remind me of simpler times when video games were not all the rage. A time when little kids played outside, found things to do, and entertained themselves.

Garrett's motto has got to be, "Life's a journey, not a destination." That kid takes forever and a day to get from point A to point B but he sure has fun doing it. I honestly think he's a modern day Huckleberry Finn minus the incredibly unstable home life and the proximity to the Mississippi River.

One day, we hiked along the Virgin River. We had lunch with very brave squirrels. Despite the fact that the adults insisted that the children did not feed the squirrels, the squirrels were determined. My dad shooed them away from our food. Repeatedly. Still, one particularly strong willed squirrel dashed up and stole the least nutritious part of our lunch. He's probably still lying in the foliage somewhere, suffering in a diabetic coma.

We fed animals in a petting zoo.

I traveled back in time, apparently. All the way back to the time of Manifest Destiny. Except if I'd been part of a wagon train, I would have been headed toward the California Gold Rush. I would not have stopped in Utah with its ridiculous winters. I'm told it snowed in Salt Lake while I was gone.

Though, to be fair, I was still in Utah and we enjoyed some very nice days.

We need to build Matthew a mostly broken covered wagon. He played in that thing for a very long time. The "ghost town" was a great source of entertainment for the boys.

So was the Virgin River. My dad and the kids floated down it in tubes, splashed in it, swam in it. Then they got out and took three hours to warm up because it was C.O.L.D.

We had a fantastic time. It was beautiful. There is nothing quite like getting out in nature and enjoying the fingerprints of God.

Weather

It's freezing.

And snowing.

And gray.

I hate Utah's spring.

It is, by far, my least favorite season here which is saying a lot because WINTER! The LONG winter. Every year, it seems.

But at least I'm prepared to freeze from November until March. Spring gets me every time with its 65 degrees followed by 20. Don't get me wrong, I love those 65 degree days much more than I love Utah winter but I hate those 20 degree, snowy spring days much more than I hate Utah winter.

When it comes to weather, I am happy from May through October.

I'm a weather snob.

But aren't we all?

Doesn't everyone hate humidity or cold or dry heat or snow or wind or something?

I spent the first 26 years of my life in San Diego and can I just state, for the record, in case you've never been there, PERFECT WEATHER ABOUT 10 MONTHS OUT OF THE YEAR. (If you hate the heat which comes in July and August. Perfect weather 12 months out of the year if you don't mind the summer. Which I don't.)

At this very moment, at 10:33 am in Salt Lake, it is 29. At this very moment, at 9:33 am in San Diego, it is 59.

I am ready for flip flops and tank tops and shorts and swimming outside. Utah is, apparently, ready for more sledding and snowmen.

We have fundamental differences, Utah and I.

Inversion

With the exception of about 45 minutes two weeks ago, we've been living life trapped under a perpetual inversion. I'd heard of this thing called "inversion" even before we moved here. The natives told us. And by natives I mean the people who had lived here longer than a season. It didn't matter that they explained it, I had no idea what they were talking about. In fact, for the entire first winter that we lived here, I couldn't understand it.

I looked outside and saw foggy, smoggy air and thought it was overcast. A wayward marine layer. A Salt Lake layer. I'm still not entirely sure that I understand the phenomenon. Something about ICKYNESS getting caught between the Wasatch and the Oquirrhs and blocking fresh air FOREVER. (Or, at the very least, what seems like forever.) Then, a storm will blow in and blow the ICKYNESS out. So, while those last few sentences imply that I still have no idea what an "inversion" actually is, after five years of living here, I totally know how to recognize one.

When you feel like you're chewing your air--INVERSION.

When you look up and the sky is two feet above your head--INVERSION.

When you look out your window and can't see a mountain range on either side because they are blocked by a thick layer of ICKYNESS--INVERSION!

When you can feel chunks swimming around in your lungs after you inhale--INVERSION.

When the world you're walking around in is freezing cold because the frigid temperatures are trapped between the barriers of the mountains and the ceiling of ICKYNESS--INVERSION.

I don't know anyone who likes them. I've never heard a person say, "Hey, isn't this inversion just totally awesome. I wish it would hang around for another three weeks straight. I'm thrilled that I can't see the sun because, golly, SUNSHINE! What a drag."

For someone with self diagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder, I go absolutely asylum bound crazy when I don't see the sun for a handful of days. So I'm about ready to rally a team of individuals who will pull the inversion out of this valley using nothing but a little elbow grease and sheer will.

Instead, I think we'll all just hop on a plane tomorrow and head for San Diego. Because I never heard the word "inversion" when I lived there. Although, in truth, the tickets were purchased long before the weather went to Hades.

Hope of Summer

It's ten degrees. TEN. The heater runs incessantly. On account of all the TEN DEGREES! When I dropped The Rock Star off at school today I walked him 35 yards to his classroom, said goodbye, and walked back to the car. My lungs were aching with the chill. My face was prickly and taut. I came home and checked the weather. ONE DEGREE. As in, 31 below freezing. As in, 74 below what I consider to be a happy temperature.

I WENT TO COLLEGE AT THE BEACH, PEOPLE! It was consistently in the 70's and 80's. Occasionally, in the winter, we had to suffer through weather in the 60's. There may have been a time or two when the thermometer started with a 5 and we bundled up in sweaters and scarves. I miss San Diego beach weather. Because right now, I am looking forward to the pool in the dead heat of summer. I am looking past February and March and April and all the way to July and August when I will be warm.

The summers here are like the conjoined twins of the summers I grew up with. They are hot and with that comes tank tops and pools and splash pads and flip flops and I love it. The autumn is beautiful. I never really knew fall until I moved here. And I was very pleased to make her acquaintance. December, even, is fantastic. Snow on Christmas? Yes, please. Hot cocoa and spiced cider and a fire crackling in its place? Indeed with an emphatic head nod.

But winter.

When January rolls around I want to climb under my covers and only come out on the warm days in spring (which are separated by the bipolar cold days of spring). The skies are cold. Life is frozen. The earth is dead.

But underneath it all lies the hope of summer.

And when that doesn't feel like quite enough, there is the hope of San Diego.

Let It Snow!

My husband doesn't like heights. He certainly doesn't like climb-the-ladder-and-stand-on-icy-roofs kind of heights. So our Christmas lights haven't always been the talk of the town. But he knows that I like lights and, more than that, he knows his kids do. So, every year, he does his best to have some manner of twinkling bulbs for Christmas.

Last year, he had a brilliant idea. He gave me permission to spend money at the after Christmas sales on lawn decor that doesn't involve him spending hours on a slick roof. I got to shop. He was freed from the looming possibility of certain death. It was a win-win for everyone.

I purchased a lighted snowman, a twinkling snowflake and a cute sign for the yard. Yesterday he and Garrett built the various items and then called me out of the warm house into the bitter cold (and by bitter cold I mean anything under 60 degrees--you know that right?) to figure out where to put them. We decided to put up one strand of lights to tie everything together. As Troy and I were working on getting the strand up, I glanced at the sign.

"Let it snow!" it reads. And it just comes across as really, overly enthusiastic about it.

I bought it willingly, is the point.

The thought crossed my mind that I should have looked for something that read, "Let it be hot!" Or, "Dreaming of a Hawaiian Christmas!"

But, in all honestly, if I'm going to live somewhere that snows, it might as well do so in December. So, I have a lot of rules, is what I'm saying. No snow in November. No snow past March 31, please. But plenty of it in December because a white Christmas really is a beautiful Christmas.

So, let it snow.

I guess.

You heard it hear first, folks. And now you can all fall over dead from the shock.

Miss

I haven't been home, really home, in eight months.

And by home I mean San Diego and by "really home" I mean that I am not forgetting that I spent a day there before we left for Hawaii and a day there before we came home to Utah. Yes, Utah is where my home is. It's where my church family is. It's where a lot of people I love are. It's where my life is. San Diego, though, is in my veins, sharing space with the blood that pumps through and keeps me alive.

I am actually homesick and I haven't been homesick in a good, long while. The weird thing is, I'm not really homesick for the sleepy cow town I grew up in. I'm sick for the beaches and the weather and the green grass of my college campus and lunch with my mom and dinner with old friends.

These freezing temperatures in October aren't helping.

This isn't a complaining, Dear Utah, I'm mad you kind of thing. I've come to realize that snow in October is always going to surprise me even when I fully expect it. It's just a, Dear San Diego, I really, madly, deeply, truly, long for your warm weather kind of thing.

And good Mexican food. I mean, who doesn't long for good Mexican food from time to time?

Five on Wednesday

1. God bless Costco precooked chicken. One of them feeds my family of four for three nights. Two night of straight chicken eating and a third night of chicken enchiladas or chef salad with chicken or taco soup.

2. Someone asked me the other day, "Where did you adopt your boys from?" It was actually a really refreshing question. Because I've always wondered why most people assume Garrett is biological just because he's Caucasian. And, yeah, sure, the kid looks exactly like me but most people--and all their extended family members plus their mailman--think he's a spitting image of his father who usually isn't with me when adoption questions come up.When I answered, "Well, Garrett is biological and Matthew was born in California," the response was a somewhat surprised, "Oh! Okay." Again, it was just nice that someone realized that just because Garrett is Caucasian doesn't mean he came from my body. Even though, in this case, he did.

3. I started watching that new show Revolution. I have a very strong feeling that I will waste five years of my life on it and then throw something at my television during the finale. Much like I did with Lost. That being said, I have to know why the lights turned off!

4. I really like autumn in Utah. Except for the fact that it's just a pretty transition into winter. And I don't like winter in Utah. December in Utah is fine. But the long, cold months of January, February, March, April and part of May can just fall right off the calendar for all I care. So basically, what I'm saying is that seven months out of the year I'm pretty happy with the weather patterns. I guess it could be worse.

5. I'm trying to buy my kids one fun thing at the grocery store when we go. This is difficult because GOODNESS have you seen the price of food these days? But I don't want my boys to grow up and say things like, "If only my mom had bought us cookies every once in a blue moon." I say no so often. Take today, for example. They wanted canned strawberries. They wanted cheese shaped like Mickey Mouse. They wanted donuts. I said no to all of those. But I bought them Little Debbie Fall cakes. They were pretty excited. One of them pumped his fist, howled, "Yes!" and then followed it up with, "I love you, Mom."

Last week I bought them each a packet of Kool-Aid. My husband informed me that Kool-Aid was a staple for him growing up and that I was probably going to be responsible for my kids growing up maladjusted because I'd never made it. (Just kidding. He totally didn't say that.) We had it as a rare treat but I do remember enjoying it. So I let them each pick a packet. It was the first time, in Garrett's six years of life and Matthew's three, that I'd ever bought Kool-Aid. So I got home, completely under the impression that I added that little packet to some water and called it a fun drink. Then I read the directions.

AND OH MY GOSH DO YOU ALL KNOW THAT YOU HAVE TO ADD AN ENTIRE CUP OF SUGAR TO THAT CRAP? I truly did not know this. So I added way more water than it called for because I do not need those boys hopped up on that much sugar, believe me. And then I had a slight panic attack that I was completely polluting their systems. I mean, their bodies are TEMPLES for crying out loud. But I shook it off and was met with two perfect smiles when that drink hit those tongues.

Although, thankfully, a week later, most of that Kool-Aid is still sitting in the fridge. They simply don't ask for it. And for that there is much rejoicing.

Week 20: A Place of Solitude

When I first saw the theme for this week, Solitude, a nearby mountain resort, immediately came to mind. I wanted to grab my camera and drive up there and see what we could find to take pictures of. So that's exactly what we did. On Wednesday I packed a lunch and the boys and I set off for Big Cottonwood Canyon.

It was gorgeous that day and, when we got up to Solitude, I realized that the winter ski season is over and the resort has not yet opened for summer. When we got there, a few people were having lunch but they left just after we arrived and we were, literally, left in solitude. This is the picture I used for the official photo project shot.

It had been in the 60s down in the valley so I'd thrown in light weight jackets as an afterthought. Despite the fact that there were very few clouds, it somehow managed to start snowing on us. It was really more like flurries and they were thick chunks...almost like light, soft, balls of hail. It was fine when the wind wasn't blowing but when it blew, it was freezing!

The boys desperately wanted to eat there but it was so cold that we only managed to eat our sandwiches before I ushered them back to the car. There were patches of snow and the boys wanted to stay and play forever but I was cold to my bones so I ended their fun, promising that we'd make a lot of stops on the way back down the canyon.

I pulled over four of five times during the 12 mile drive out of the canyon. The boys wanted to touch the water but I had to find really gradual shores because the water was raging. I had visions of both boys being swept down the river and that is just not a party I want to be invited to.

While I was helping Matthew touch the water at this location, I looked up just in time to see Garrett taking his first steps out onto this log.

Now I'm as adventurous as the next mom and, really, more than most so I know where he gets it but sometimes I think I gave birth to a reincarnated Evel Knievel. Except that Evel Knievel didn't die until after Garrett was born and I don't believe in reincarnation.

Normally I would not freak out about him crossing a river on a log but the water was cold and the river was fast and when I checked the log out myself a few minutes later it was not sturdy at all.

See what I mean?

Just kidding. That's totally not the same log. 

We explored. We did a little walking around a picnic area. We had a blast. And I was reminded that I really need to haul myself up into the mountains a little more often because this picture...

was taken about thirty five minutes from my front door.